


it's been one week (so come on and let me know).

by rockygetsrolling



Series: the bizarre and beautiful life of james w. gordon [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Gotham Central
Genre: Antics and Hijinks, Car Chases, Damian is a little shit, Disclaimer: The Author Doesn't Know Shit About Flirting, Dubious Seduction Methods, F/M, Jim Is A Hopeless Romantic Yet His Tactics Somehow Work?, Romance, The Author Uses Comic Writers And Artists For Extras And Cameos And Is Unashamed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 22:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockygetsrolling/pseuds/rockygetsrolling
Summary: Pressed against the clock (literally) on a dangerous case, Jim has to take a step back and think about where this thing with Sarah is going--and how far he's willing to go for it.OR: There's a car chase and some punk-rock seduction attempts. Jim is involved in both.





	1. it's been...

“Watches synced?”

“You’re making this sound like _Charlie’s Angels_.”

“This is definitely as intense as _Charlie’s Angels_. Are the watches synced or not?”

Jim eyes the watch faces cautiously. “Down to the second.”

“How many seconds till the next—”

“Twenty-three.”

They’re on the roof by the floodlight, staring at a pair of pocket watches found on the desk of the GCPD Evidence Locker custodian, Julian Black. They hadn’t been part of any report before, and even if they had, surveillance showed no evidence of anyone rooting through the evidence bags. They had just appeared on his desk, supposedly in just a second while his back was turned. It was unknown how they got there, but they were synced perfectly, and they were made out of a combination of springs and cogs that were scientifically impossible.

As one could believe, Jim and Bruce were both suspicious.

“It’s bizarre,” Jim mutters, staring long and hard at the clocks. “They just happen to turn up on his desk? The odds are almost zilch. It shouldn’t be possible.” 

“It’s not. But this is Gotham.”

“That it is.” 

Bruce slides his hands under the bottoms of the watches and holds them up, eyes narrowed. Blue lines of light slide across his gloves, doing a full scan of the structure and inner workings with X-Ray tech that Jim can only hope to grasp. “Clockwork King, do you think?”

“That’d be my first guess.”

Bruce nods and hands them back over into Jim’s latex-coated hands. “I’ll start a search for him.”

“Any word on the Tomahawk case?”

“Nightwing and Batgirl are in Burnery working the case now, with your Detectives Rucka and Simone. We have three suspects lined up, nothing solid yet.”

“No leads?”

“A few, but they’re flimsy.”

Jim sniffs and tucks the two watches back into the evidence bag. “Keep me updated, as always?”

“Obviously.”

When Jim looks up, Batman is gone, the sound of his cape snapping in the wind the only hint that he was even there.

“Begone, bastard,” he mutters, and then throws the switch for the floodlight and heads back inside.

Sarah, Maggie, Renee and Bullock are waiting at the bottom of the stairs, eyeing him expectantly. 

“What’s the verdict?” Sarah asks finally.

“Still pending. He took a scan of them and is taking them back for analysis. We’re guessing it’s Clockwork King, but that’s only preliminary.”

“If it’s another Joker, I swear to God—” Harvey mumbles before Maggie cuts him off. 

“Simone just called in from Burnery Heights. They pinned the guy they think is responsible for the Tomahawk murders. They’ve booked him and they’re headed in for interrogation. Batgirl and Nightwing are coming in to swear witness.”

“Finally,” Renee says.

“How’d they catch him?” Jim asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Simone said no shots were fired. Nothing more, though.”

Jim nods. “Bullock, anything in from the Shrenveaun autopsy yet?”

“Nothin’. ME Wolfe says she’ll contact me when the report is done. She did say something about raw sewage, so who knows how that’s going.”

“Raw sewage?” Sarah looks disgusted, understandably so.

“They pulled him from the main sewage drain in the Upper West Side,” Renee says. “He wasn’t eaten, no teeth marks either, so we’re pretty sure it’s not Croc.”

“Who else pulls a body into the sewers?” 

“The fact that that’s a question we genuinely need to ask baffles me,” Maggie declares. 

“Such is the life of a Gotham cop,” Jim grouses. “Keep me updated on all this, but the Clockwork Caper is taking a front seat.”

“Oh my _God_,” Sarah says. “I can’t believe I just had to hear you say those words.”

“Is it bad that I can?” Renee asks. 

Maggie shakes her head and throws her hands up. “Major Crimes desk is calling me, lads. I’m headin’ back. Harv, if you get anything on Tomahawk and Shrenveaun, let me know ASAP. I got some guys in holding that might fit.”

“You got it.”

“Alright, we’re good?” Jim asks.

“We’re good,” Renee affirms, and she, Maggie, and Bullock slip out of the stairwell and back toward the bullpen.

Sarah stays behind. 

It’s been two weeks since Cuchulain, and five days since Sarah and Jim had kissed on his kitchen floor. They had promised to talk about it, and they still hadn’t. They’d barely talked at all, quite frankly, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

“So,” Sarah says.

Jim looks at her and finds it very hard not to kiss her. “So.”

“We _are_ trying this, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“_This_, Jim. Us. Whatever we’re doing.”

Jim feels a flush of embarrassment creep across his face and up his neck. “Of course we are, it’s just we agreed to talk about it and we never got the chance—”

“But you _want_ this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jim says, pouring as much truth into it as he can. “God, Sarah, I’ve wanted this for years.”

Sarah steps close to him and kisses him once—short and sweet, a puff of breath across his lips. “Prove it to me, hound dog. Two more days. No contact outside of work, unless it concerns a case.”

“And what happens after that?” Jim says against her lips. He wants to kiss her again.

“My place, Saturday morning after two. You show up. Show me you care.”

Jim leans in, kisses her, and she indulges him with return fire until Jim is sweating bullets under his coat, despite the chilly air of the stairwell. When Sarah pulls away, she looks dazed and beautiful and open, and she leans in to press her forehead against his. 

“Do we have a deal?” 

“We do.”

“Promise me.”

“I swear to you, _graínn_.”

Sarah looks up at him. “What?”

“It’s Irish Gaelic.”

“What does it mean, though?”

Jim smiles cryptically. “I’ll tell you on Saturday morning.”

Sarah graces him with a smile, kisses him softly on his cheek, and steps away. “Watches synced?”

“I’m getting dejá vu. Yes, they’re synced.”

Sarah beams at him and winks as she pushes the door open. “See you on Saturday, Commish.”

“See you on Saturday, Sergeant.”

The door slams shut, and Jim shuts his eyes and sighs deeply. 

“Christ.”

“That’s a weak bet. A blood pact would have been far more interesting.”

Jim looks up into the masked eyes of Robin, perched on the railing of the stairway above him. He looks, as always, unimpressed and vaguely annoyed. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?” Jim asks.

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to be doing your job?”

Jim shrugs. “Fair enough. Good night, Dames.”

“_Tt_. Good night, Gordon. Good luck.”

“Thanks, kid. Stay safe.”

He walks out of the stairwell and makes way to the bullpen, the pair of pocket watches still ticking away silently.


	2. one week since you looked at me

At midnight on Saturday, the relative quiet common to Gotham City’s Diamond District is shattered by the wailing of a police cruiser—and the screeching of the three clockwork vehicles that’re chasing it.

“_Shit!_” Bruce barks as the cruiser hydroplanes down the street. 

“This is why I said we should take the Batmobile, asshole!” Jim yells, doing his best to brake against the waterlogged tires. “I thought you said he’d be alone!”

“Clearly he wasn’t!”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious!” He pulls the wheel and speeds down the rain-soaked street, uphill into the financial district. “What’s your strategy?”

“Take them through financial. I’ll try and stop the clocks.”

“Right,” Jim hisses, and he throws the gearshift and hits the gas.

One thing that people say about Jim is that he can drive like the devil when he needs to. Perhaps it’s because he’s a Chicagoan, born-and-raised, and now lives in the Bad Driver Hell that is an urban setting on the coast of New Jersey. Whatever the cause of it, it’s why he’s the only human being alive without a secret identity that’s allowed to drive the Batmobile. 

It’s also why he’s steering a Crown Vic, decked out with sirens and attachable red-and-blues, through the streets of Gotham’s financial district—one of the most confusing parts of the city—in an effort to lose Clockwork King and his henchmen while Batman sits in the backseat, doing his best to rewire the literally ticking time bomb that is the two identical pocket watches.

“He used fucking _nuclear schematics_ for this,” Bruce yells over the din of screeching tires, sirens, and blaring horns. “How the fuck does he even _do_ this?! Fucking Chernobyl on this shit!”

“That is probably my least favorite thing you’ve ever said!” Jim turns the car hard and sends it barreling down Park Avenue, three clockwork vehicles in hot pursuit. 

“He made a micro-atomic detonator out of _clockwork pieces!_ I know it’s a bit fucked up but I’m genuinely impressed—”

The rest of his sentence is dashed to bits when Jim swerves around another corner and Bruce is slammed into one of the doors, squeaking in alarm as the bomb flies across the car. “_Shit!_” 

“We’re running out of space to lose them!” Jim narrowly avoids the deep honking from a cut-off semi. “They’re gaining ground and numbers!”

“The docks! Head to the docks!”

Perfect. 

Jim slams the next turn and speeds like a bat out of hell down the near-abandoned street. In the distance, Gotham Harbor’s lights glimmer faintly between the buildings. 

“What do we do?!”

“Fake them out!”

Jim grins slowly. Fake out by the docks is a maneuver he’d mastered years ago.

“You got the bomb back?”

There’s a quick _clink!_—the sound of Bruce’s gauntlet snatching the watches—and he huffs sharply. “Yeah. Go wild.”

Jim resists the urge to give a war-cry as he puts pressure on the gas. “Hey, what’s that stupid song that Jason played last time we got into a chase?!”

“Oh my God, do _not_, we’re in the middle of a life-or-death situation—”

“_It’s been—one week since you looked at me—!_”

“Jim!”

Jim lets out a borderline maniacal laugh as the car sails past the entrance—literally sails, because there’s a bump in the road that Jim always forgets about, so the car goes airborne as they shoot past the gates. 

“Holy shit!” Bruce yells.

When Bruce is not in control of a vehicle in a situation like this, it comes with mixed results, ranging from well-disguised terror to awe to a steadfast deadpan. Tonight, it’s been a healthy mix of all three. 

“Hang on!” 

“To what?!”

“Whatever you can! I’m James Bonding this shit!”

“Aw, Christ,” Bruce groans, and Jim launches into one of the trucker lanes and takes off. There’s a drawbridge coming up ahead, and Jim knows exactly how to make the jump and stop the other three without getting all of them killed. 

“I know I already said it, but _hold on!_”

The car streaks up the slope of the bridge and leaps.

Jim prays—

—and they make landfall. 

Jim skids to a stop twenty meters past the end of the bridge, just as there’s a sharp _snip!_ from the backseat. 

“Disarmed,” Bruce wheezes, pulling himself up into a sitting position. 

“Thank God.” He opens the car door and peers back through the fog rolling off the bag into the darkness of the bridge.

Six headlights remain on the ridge, some dangerously close to falling off into the gap. The clockwork vehicles don’t have the stamina or capacity to make a seven foot jump—unlike a Crown Vic.

“We got ‘em,” he says, slapping the car roof. 

The sirens turn off. Jim had forgotten they were still on.

“What’s happening?” Bruce asks, unsteadily climbing out of the backseat. He looks pallid under the mask, but that might be because of the bullet in his arm more than the ride.

“We got ‘em,” Jim repeats, pointing up to the stranded headlights. 

Bruce flicks his arm and raises his gauntlet to his lips. “Batman to all allies, we have Clockwork King and company stranded at the docks, Harbor Sector 93-4-A. Any assistance given is appreciated.”

“Ten-four, Bats, Red Hood and Red Robin en route now,” Jason says into his intercom. 

“Copy.” Bruce lowers his gauntlet and pulls out a stun gun, equipped with just enough electricity to knock someone out. He only uses it when he’s too exhausted or incapacitated to actually fight, so Jim draws his own gun first and makes his way across the mesh-metal binding of the service bridge just beside the street. 

“GCPD!” He raises his gun, Bruce not far behind him, stun gun raised. “You’re under arrest!”

No one makes a move, and maybe that’s for the better. Jim and Bruce wait it out until Red Hood’s motorcycle rolls up nearby and Jason and Tim dismount, hustling up the slope to meet them and give them a hand. 

“There’s three to each car,” Bruce grunts. “Clockwork King is in the one too close to the ledge.”

“What’s our strategy?” Tim asks, expanding a small metal cylinder into a full-sized bō staff.

“Wait for them to come to us,” Jim replies.

They do, and after less than thirty seconds, a door snaps open, and the fight begins.

=

“...and I promise you, I’ll show Gotham!” King roars, struggling against his bonds and the cops leading him to the armored van. “I’ll show you _all_ what I’m capable of—!”

The doors slam shut, cutting off his self-righteous shrieking. 

“I thought he’d never shut up,” Tim mutters, perched cross-legged on top of the Crown Vic. It’s seen better days by now; the chase left more than one dent, a smashed headlight, a busted bumper, and a blown-out wheel among the damages. 

“You and us all,” Maggie says gruffly. She turns to Jim. “Did you Miranda them?”

“Gave the lot of them a joint Miranda. It felt like giving a speech to high school kids.”

Maggie smirks. “Most of those guys were high school kids. King’s gonna get quite some time to explain this one.”

“And energy,” Jason adds. He slaps the hood of the Crown Vic. “This bad boy needs a refinery check.”

“It sure does,” Maggie agrees. “I love using cruises for chasers. It’s chaos incarnate.”

“Not always a good thing,” Bruce rumbles as he raises his gauntlet again. “Batman to all units, the threat at the docks has been stabilized. No further assistance required.”

“Copy that, I’ll distribute the message,” Oracle’s voice cuts in. “For what it’s worth, it’s almost three in the morning, I think you guys should head home.”

Jim slams the flat of his fist against the roof, making Tim yelp in alarm. “_Fuck!_”

“_Je_sus!” Maggie jumps. “What the hell—?!”

“_The bet!_” Jim yells. “Fuck! I promised Sarah I’d be there—!”

“Oh, shit!” Robin’s voice yells over the intercom, and Bruce gives Jim a look of simultaneous confusion and betrayal.

“What is going on and why is Robin in on it?”

“I made a deal with Sarah! A week without contact except for cases! I was supposed to be at her place an hour ago to prove it!” He can feel his chest constricting at the feeling of failure solidifying in his gut. “Oh my _God_, how the fuck am I gonna get from here to Burnery with all the traffic?”

Jason slaps Tim on the back. “Red, you’re takin’ the passenger seat of the Batmobile.”

Time expression is one of the utmost betrayal. “Ex_cuse_ me—”

“I’m gonna get Jim to Sarah’s place! I’m the only one with a bike available on site!”

“I can’t leave,” Jim says, and the glass holding his feeling falls and shatters, but he sucks it up. “I have paperwork and reports to file—”

“Oh, for Chrissakes,” Maggie groans, throwing her hands up. “Listen, dumbfuck, you made a promise to her, and you’ve been working this case on overtime anyway. Go to her. I can handle this, and the paperwork will still be there in the morning.”

“It already _is_ the morning,” Tim points out. 

Maggie shoots him a glare before turning a hardened gaze Jim’s direction. “Take the bike and _go to her_. I can handle this just fine.”

“Margaret Sawyer, I would kill a man for you.”

“I know you would. Now get! She’s waiting for you!”

Jason grabs him by his arm and pulls him toward the bike while Tim cheers, seemingly unironically. He grabs Jason’s spare helmet and holds onto the sidebars and Jason revs the engine and kicks off. A few officers who heard the ordeal send whistles and cheers after them.

And as eager as he is to see Sarah again, the barely-there smile on Bruce’s face makes him breathe just a bit easier.


	3. should i stay or should i go now?

Sarah’s lights are out when they get there not long after. The lantern that she usually leaves out on her fire escape—for late-night visits from vigilantes, mostly—is nowhere to be seen, meaning she’s gone in for the night.

“Son of a bitch,” Jim says. He’s angry and he’s tired, but most of all, he’s disappointed in himself.

“She might still be awake,” Jason says, pulling his helmet off. “Maybe it’s a test.”

“Sarah doesn’t _do_ tests, kid, you know that.”

“Wishful thinking.”

Jim sighs as he pulls his own helmet off. “I’m out of luck. I fucked up. I failed.”

“Maybe not yet.”

“What hope is there, Jay?”

“Hop up.”

They climb off the seats, and Jason pops open the main seat, reaches into the compartment, and pulls out—

“A...boom box.” 

“Yep.”

Jim feels like he’s missing a joke. “Why—what—how would this—?”

“You ever seen the movie _Say Anything_?”

“No?”

“Good. Don’t. The only valid bit is the one where the guy stands outside his crush’s house and plays a love song while holding a boom box over his head.”

“Are you _seriously_ suggesting that’s what I do?”

“Yes? That’s the only reason I keep it, so I can do it to Kori, Roy, and Arti.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Does it work?”

“Usually. Eight of ten times.”

Jim stares at the giant black speaker, the line of his throat bobbing, before turning to Jason. 

“Do you have an AUX?”

“I’m Batman’s kid, what do you think?”

= 

Sarah wakes up to the heavy blaring of guitars from outside. 

She tries at first to hold a pillow over her head. It does nothing. Then she tries playing her own music louder in her headphones, which is more successful but overall doesn’t block the sound.

Finally, she groans, rises from her bed, and walks to the window, ready to call in for a noise complaint. The shades part, the sash is thrown open—

And she stops, stares, smiles, and laughs out loud.

Jim is standing in the alley below her apartment, holding a boom box over his head, blaring The Clash’s “Should I Stay Or Should I Go.” He looks frightened and vulnerable and so in love, and he also looks a bit beat up, even in the full light from the nearby street lamp.

When he sees her, his whole body relaxes, and he swings the boom box down and turns the music off. 

“Good morning.”

Sarah laughs again. “Hi! What are you doing here?”

“I made a promise to you! It’s Saturday morning after two!”

“How did you even get here? And where did you _come_ from?! You look like you got the shit beaten out of you!”

“What?”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Give me a second so I can get down there!”

She shuts the window, pulls the curtains closed, places her hands over her face, and lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a squeal of glee and hysterical laughter. 

This is happening after all.

= 

When Sarah vanishes, Jason takes the boom box and the bike, leaving Jim with a sly wink and a wave goodnight. All for the better, really.

Sarah comes out of the side door still in her pajamas—a red and black baseball tee, flannel pants, and ridiculous pink bunny slippers. She’s also wearing a smile that could outshine the sun itself, and her black-hole eyes glimmer like neutron stars in the dimness of the street.

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hey,” he replies, and he feels his face slowly shift to match hers. 

She walks the span from the back door to Jim, and the second she’s close enough she grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him, long and slow and warm like a smoldering fire, and Jim wraps his arms around her and does his best to match her pace. It feels like falling into eternity, like running your hands through stardust, like what Jim can only imagine being Superman must feel like. Sarah’s hands come up to cup his face, and his heart does an entire dance number along the edges of his ribs. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, kissing. It could be hours, if could be milliseconds. Either way, when he pulls away he feels young and lively and full of joy, and the look on Sarah’s face—her diamond-bright smile, her black-hole eyes, the crows’ feet and laugh lines and that one misplaced freckle just above her right eyebrow—makes him want to take her by the hand and dance in the streets like some musical.

“So,” he whispers against her lips, “in all seriousness, should I stay or should I go?”

Sarah giggles and drapes her arms around his neck. “You should stay. You should definitely stay.”

“Do you have room?”

“My bed’s a king-sized.”

Jim snorts affectionately. “On a cop’s salary?”

“I make do.”

Jim kisses her one more time, then presses his nose into her cheek. “You sure you’ve got the room?”

“Oh my God, Jim, I’m forty-eight, not eighteen. I’m sure I’ve got the room.”

“You sure you don’t _mind_—?” 

Sarah cuts him off with a long, languid kiss and starts to pull him toward the door. “I don’t mind, James. Now come _on_, or I’m leaving you out here in the cold.”

“Well, we don’t want that, do we?”

“I know I don’t. Besides, it _is_ really cold tonight.”

“Not for long, hopefully,” Jim snarks, and Sarah laughs and pulls him inside.

And between the sheets of Sarah’s king-sized bed, still clothed but entwined with each other, they talk about them, where they’re going, and when they’re going there.

It’s the safest Jim’s felt in a very long time.


	4. bonus round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jim and the batkids text and no my mind cannot be changed.

**Devil Baby >>> James Bond**

Saturday, October 20th, 12:37 P.M.

Devil Baby: So!

James Bond: So…?

Devil Baby: The bet!!!

James Bond: Oh!  
James Bond: I showed up at her place and we talked, it all worked out.

Devil Baby: So you both won?

James Bond: Hell yeah! 

Devil Baby: How did you seduce her? How much did you have to pay her?

James Bond: There it is. 

Devil Baby: It’s a fair question.

James Bond: Sure it is, kid.  
James Bond: I mean, does playing “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” outside her bedroom window count as seduction?

Devil Baby: I just winced physically.  
Devil Baby: My head hurts from reading that.

James Bond: Your support is always appreciated.  
James Bond: Now go feed your animals, before Batcow starts trying to eat Cass’s fingers.

Devil Baby: What?  
Devil Baby: Cassandra just came up and got mad at me for not feeding Batcow…  
Devil Baby: Are you psychic?  
Devil Baby: You’re an odd duck, Gordon.

James Bond: Why else do you think I get along so well with your dad?

Devil Baby: …fair.  
Devil Baby: Are Grayson and I still coming by for the case review tonight?

James Bond: You sure are.  
James Bond: Tell your dad he owes me $2,000, by the way, he won’t reply to my texts. 

Devil Baby: Why?

James Bond: He knows why.

Devil Baby: That’s extremely ominous but I will.  
Devil Baby: See you tonight.

James Bond: Thank you.  
James Bond: See you tonight.   
James Bond: Also please come and fetch your katanas from my living room.

_Devil Baby has gone offline._

James Bond: Kid…


End file.
